


The Very Blood of You

by I_Write_Midnight_Snacks (Pink_and_Purple_Daisies)



Series: Vampire AU [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Vampire Jason Todd, Whump, a bit of beta-reading so I can't use the no beta tag, bruce is barely there, but it gets better, but not comprehensive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Purple_Daisies/pseuds/I_Write_Midnight_Snacks
Summary: The sudden nausea he has to hold back as he sits down has nothing to do with a half-feral vampire prowling around, and everything to do with the heavy silence bearing down on him from every side of the room.Or:Jason is home. Tim has a hard time dealing with that.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Vampire AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131410
Comments: 16
Kudos: 389





	The Very Blood of You

**Author's Note:**

> You (*cough*Envy*cough) have asked, and I have delivered.
> 
> Bringing you, the aftermath of the Titan's Tower attack. Featuring Hair Pets, because I know what I'm about.

Jason is back.

Tim isn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it’s _Jason_.

_It’s Robin_ , Tim’s Robin, who takes up an entire album full of pictures that Tim has prized for so many years, who inspired him to take the cape.

On the other hand, Tim can’t quite look at him without remembering the pounding in his chest and the sound of crashes and the _pain and weightlessness of blood loss_ \- panic coursing through his veins and - _think think think, danger, he’s Going To Kill Me-_

So, yeah. Tim’s been dealing with it in the way Bats have always dealt with any uncomfortable, emotional issues. By avoiding it.

Avoiding Jason, more specifically.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Dick asked him on his first day of bed-rest in the manor, as if Tim would ever be the one to wrench a crowbar between Jason and his family by telling them _“No, you can’t bring your previously dead, beloved family member back home because I’m scared of him”_. Right. Thankfully, Tim’s bullshit smile is something he’s learned to perfect since childhood, and it was easy enough to justify his shaking hands by the fact that, at the time, he was _still woozy from losing most of his body’s content of blood_.

It’s alright, though. Tim always knew exactly where he stood with the Waynes - he isn’t family. 

He’s an expendable interloper at best, with his own house to go back to, and he’s been intruding on theirs for long enough. They even have Jason back now. His initial reason for joining them now void, he stays at the mansion only as long as it takes him to reproduce all the blood he’s lost, manages to pretend like his vision doesn’t swim every time he sees Jason hovering in a doorway, and tries to be grateful that Jack and Dana are always gone, so they don’t notice the wound on his arm the moment he gets back to his house.

_(Tries not to wish that they were home, that they’d notice that he’s hurt.)_

Of course, when he implied that he would miss Sunday brunch at the Wayne Manor, he got the full brunt of Dick’s puppy eyes as well as Alfred’s pointed “Nonsense, young master, who will finish your share of crepes if you’re not there?” which Tim took to mean “get your scrawny ass over here where I can personally make sure that you’re eating, or else”.

So. No avoiding that, unfortunately.

Still. It’s only brunch. It’s fine. Tim can get through that without freaking out, and he can even bottle up his panic attack for later, when he’s alone at home. He’s good at compartmentalizing that way.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It’s just brunch, and he can make his escape as soon as Alfred deems that he ate enough.

So of course, the first words out of his mouth the moment he gets there are, “Where’s Jason?”

In Tim’s defense, the glaringly empty seat is very clearly set for another person, and yet the man in question is conspicuously absent.

Dick and Bruce exchange a look that sends all sorts of alarm bells ringing through Tim’s mind. He almost swivels around right there, and it takes concentrated effort to keep from looking at every doorway, waiting for Jason to take shape in the shadows.

He's fine. Even if Jason shows up, it's alright. Bruce and Dick wouldn't let him - well. The memory of arms holding his limp form in a hold like a vice, of fangs next to his neck, so close he could feel every breath on too sensitive skin while Bruce and Dick just _sat there_ \- Jason's more important than Tim, he's their son- _brother-kid-family_ , Tim knows as much, but they wouldn't let him drain Tim, at least. He can - he can deal with the rest. It's just another thing to get used to.

Dick is the first one to clear away that pained expression, with the sheer force of the megawatt smile that doesn't bullshit Tim nearly as well as Dick seems to think. Bruce's face, in contrast, hardens into something more closed off, something that's too pained to look as neutral as Bruce is aiming for, if only you know where to look for the signs.

So, ok. Everything's not perfect.

“In his room," Dick explains. "He’s still settling back in. Don’t worry, little red.”

Right. Tim is just going to nod and pretend like that was his worry. That’s good, though - Jason isn’t around, so maybe Tim can even get through this without having to hide a panic attack. Silver linings!

On the other hand, the sudden nausea he has to hold back as he sits down has nothing to do with a half-feral vampire prowling around, and everything to do with the heavy silence bearing down on him from every side of the room. Even Alfred, when he comes in, seems weighed down, worry drawing the lines of his face like they used to back when…

Back when Tim first joined them in the cave.

Back when the hallways were cold and the rooms were dark and Dick was away and ghosts lingered in every shadow creasing Bruce’s face. But then the manor became… not home, but warm. Warmer than his mausoleum of a house ever was. And now… 

Dick’s chatter is subdued.

Bruce is like a rock, unmoving and cold.

Alfred’s crepes taste like ash to Tim.

And Jason was _Tim’s_ Robin, he was Bruce’s son, Tim knows he shouldn’t, hates the part of him that thinks it, but… 

He wishes Jason hadn’t returned.

***

When Bruce pushes away from the table with a deep sigh, it’s the most he’s expressed since Tim sat down.

Dick can’t quite seem to hide the concern pulling at his expression in time. “Bruce?” he asks. Tim hates hearing his voice sound that small and weak.

“I’m going to check on him. Maybe get him to…” He trails off, face contorting in a way that speaks more than any words could, and Dick gives a nod in response.

“Ok. Ok, that’s good, that’s… get him to…” He sighs. “Just go to him.”

Bruce doesn’t reply, and when he leaves, for the first time in a long while, Tim has no idea what to do with himself around Dick.

“I’m sorry, little red. We didn’t mean to ignore you, it’s just been a bit… tense.”

Tim politely holds back a snort, because that’s the biggest understatement he’s ever heard, but Dick suddenly looks so _tired_ that Tim just… can’t.

He rests his face in his palms, heaves out a soulful sigh, and says, “Jason’s barely leaving his room, and he’s not doing ok. We don’t know what to do.”

The orange juice Tim sips at is equally as tasteless as the crepes, but it’s a great deal better than trying to come up with some awkward, unhelpful response, because the last time Jason was “not doing ok” ended up with Tim unconscious, so he needs to know. “What’s wrong with him?”

Dick shakes his head, but it’s not an answer as much as it is a nervous tick. “Not… sorry, you shouldn’t have to worry about this, Timmy. We just can’t figure out what’s actually wrong, and he won’t even talk to us anymore.”

Despite himself, Tim’s heart skips a beat.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I don’t… he’s closed off, and he won’t tell us anything about how he’s back, and I know he needs to feed more than before, but he hasn’t been doing that, and I worry, Tim. He’s pushing himself, and I know we can’t… but we could figure something out, surely if he just let us help.”

That’s…

Terrifying.

Tim’s whole blood feels like running ice in his veins.

Jason starving himself means he’s _bound_ to go feral eventually, and Tim - Tim can’t - No, no Jason’s _Robin_ , he wouldn’t endanger his family like that, risk going - but, oh. There’s no other choice, is there because there’s only so much blood they can give, so Jason is - and Tim may be Robin but Jason’s _Family_ , and he’s important and Tim is expendable, so they’re -

_fangs at his throat as they talk over his head_ -

They wouldn’t let him kill Tim, even so -

_his blood draining and pain burning in his arm, sharper and sharper_ -

But could they even stop him -

_sharp, panting breaths and running, the beep beep sounds of the code pad and falling, felling_ -

A sharp breath, deep and chilling. The table, solid and wooden under his clenching fingers.

“Tim?”

The sweet scent of crepes and coffee. Alfred’s special blend.

The scents of the manor are grounding, a stone for Tim to anchor himself. He takes all those other thoughts and shoves them in a box, throws shut the lid and hides it away at the back of his mind.

“I’m fine.”

He prays that they don’t ask him to help.

***

The mansion is exactly as he remembers it. Jason isn’t sure what he was expecting. Some sort of sign that everything’s different now? That everything changed in some tangible way, that they moved on and he’s been left behind completely, maybe, but that’s not the case.

It’s all the same. Even his old room is - he took one look at it, almost threw up, and ran to the farthest door down the hallway, to an empty room, which is where he’s still staying. It’s like no time passed at all, down to the open textbook on his old table and the empty glass on his old nightstand.

“I promised I wouldn’t go in without your consent,” Bruce said, as if a promise given to a dead kid held all the weight of the world, and Jason had been so ready to be proven right, that they’d moved on and forgotten about him, that he has no idea what to do with the fact that they… still care.

For the kid that they buried, at least.

If that’s really what this is.

“Jason?” comes Bruce’s voice at the door, gruff and soft, and everything he remembers it being whenever Bruce was trying and failing to be fatherly. He hates it.

There’s no way this is going to last, and every new reminder of all the things he lost - all the things he’s going to lose all over again soon - feels like a crowbar straight to the gut. A silver crowbar. That saps all his strength and leaves him breathless. 

He doesn’t answer, but the shuffling of fabric just outside his door is a familiar sound even after all these years, as is the slight creaking of the wood when Bruce’s weight settles against the door.

“Ok. You don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. But we worry about you, Jaylad.”

A pause. He does that a lot, pause to let Jason step in.

“Will you come out to feed, at least?”

No. He fed from Bruce last week already, the man definitely can’t spare more yet.

“Ok. Then how about some tea? I could bring it to you here.”

Another pause.

Then, tentatively, “Tim is visiting.”

Jason startles. He still hasn’t apologized to the kid. Not properly, not when he was lucid. He wanted to, but then every time he even thought about approaching Tim, the kid would tense like a spring, and Jason doesn’t need superhearing to know his heart was hammering like a rabbit’s. And he doesn’t want to give the kid a heart attack, on top of everything else, just to assuage his own guilt.

He sits down on the other side of the door from Bruce, instead, like he did when he was a kid - tentatively building trust, convinced that one toe out of line would have the man throwing him into a silver-lined cell forever.

“Then why are you up here? Go have brunch with the kid, Bruce,” he says, finally.

“Hmm. He’s with Dick right now. But I haven’t been able to spend time with you, Jason. I… miss you.”

Jason scoffs. “I’m right here, old man. You see me every day.”

“For a few minutes, yes.” A pause, and then a sigh, deep and tired. “What happened, Jay? Why won’t you talk to us?”

_Because I’m dangerous,_ he wants to say.

_Because I’m so hungry, I’m going to hurt you, and I don’t want that, _he wants to cry.__

_Because you’re going to realize I’m not that kid anymore, and then I’m going to lose even the little I have now._

“I didn’t come back to play happy family, Bruce. If you’re not gonna lock me up, fine. Whatever. But I’m not going out there and hurting anyone else.”

_It’s not enough. You’re not enough. I came back wrong and I need too much and I’m going to hurt someone and I don’t want to._

__They can’t spare more blood, and bags are no longer an option._ _

__Jason knows how to go hungry. Knows how to ration his blood and spread it out and stay just on the edge of starvation, never enough to edge into feral._ _

__But it hurts. It’s painful, and tiring, and at some point Jason is going to lose hold of the tight reins he keeps on his control, again._ _

__The math is simple._ _

__“Go spend time with your kids, Bruce.” He was aiming for scathing, but the words come out sounding so tired that even Jason winces._ _

__Bruce shifts. “You’re my son too, Jason. Don’t shut us out, please.”_ _

__Jason has nothing to add, and when the silence lingers, unfilled, Bruce finally takes the hint. His footsteps echo deliberately down the long, empty hallway._ _

____

***

Jason looks awful, the few times Tim catches a glimpse of him. Even through the spikes of panic, Tim can recognise that much.

So, of course it’s not a surprise when it all comes crashing down.

Dick is back in Bludhaven for the week, Bruce is at work, and Alfred is out on errands. Tim would be home, but it’s easier to do casework at the manor where he has access to all of Bruce’s resources.

At the moment, he’s spread out on the couch in the den - the one they use the most, on the East wing ground floor, closest to the library - with a bunch of GCPD files around him so he can survey all the information at once. He isn’t quite at the pins and red string stage yet, but there’s something niggling at him, that weird feeling that something’s staring him in the face and he just needs to find a single missing piece in order to complete the image. This feeling usually ends in a coffee-induced manic episode at 3AM that he’s going to forget the next morning, if not for the heavily detailed 3D spreadsheets showing his solution to whatever case started the spiral. He doesn’t have school tomorrow but Ms. Mac will be around so he should avoid looking like death hungover.

Just one more coffee, he reasons with himself, and he can try to rearrange the files in a new pattern to see if the something jumps out.

A crash from the kitchen startles all thoughts of coffee out of him. He grabs the empty tray on the table next to him as a makeshift weapon as he rushes out of the den - possibilities run through his head. He’s supposed to be alone, Alfred is gone - so, intruder? But nobody capable of getting past their security would be sloppy enough to alert him, so who-

Jason.

Tim forgot.

Right up to the moment he’s standing in the kitchen doorway, he forgot he was home alone with a half-feral vampire.

A vampire, who’s now clutching the counter and watching Tim with wide, glowing eyes. Pupils pinning him in place and dilating visibly.

Time stills.

They look at each other in mutual surprise as the second drags on around them and surprised silence lines the air, heavy with too many thoughts to fill a single moment.

Then Jason shoots back. He hits the wall next to the fridge with a startled hiss, pupils turned to pinpricks, tracking Tim’s flinch with deadly accuracy.

“Jason, what-”

“Get back!”

He freezes.

Jason has one hand extended, like a barrier between himself and Tim, but even with the other covering his mouth and nose, Tim can read the frantic fright, the feral need, the panic in the vampire’s eyes.

_Oh._

“Go away, baby bird, please, I can’t -”

He’s starving.

Hands shaking and feet unsteady and swallowing thickly over and over; Jason’s going to lose it, and Tim-

Tim is alone with him.

Tim should run.

He should get out of this house, now, before something bad happens-

His feet _won’t move_.

“Kid, you need to get away, I can’t - I’m going to hurt you - I need something to - some sugar, to tide me over, please g _o now_ -”

Tim would.

Tim _should_.

But Jason is shaking, and his voice is cracking, and he was - his mind runs with questions - sugar to tide him over? So, looking for substitutes. Until Bruce gets home? But Bruce already fed Jason this month, Bruce won’t be able to give anything, and Jason isn’t going to hold on much longer.

Jason is - Bruce is - Bruce is gonna come home to a feral Jason and then - Tim gulps, though it feels like swallowing glass - then what? He’s going to lose his son again? After getting him back? Have to contain Jason? Is Jason going to kill _Bruce_ instead, and spend his life regretting it every day, ridden with guilt until the Hunters will get him, and then Dick _(Oh God, Dick)_ , who’s far away in Bludhaven will come home to another dead family, and Tim-

Tim can’t move.

He can’t do anything about it. He needs to move, to do something, to _help_ because Jason is so, so important, and Tim can see everything fall apart, but - but he still remembers the bloodloss, setting in slowly. Losing feeling to his limbs and not being able to even fall thanks to the strong, crushing grip on his arm. _Dying_ all alone in Titan’s Tower.

“What do you need?” he hears his voice ask without his consent, without even a thought from him, and barely recognises it for the shiver lining its edges.

Jason startles back at that, breathing ragged and sharp. “I - sugar, sugar helps,” he tries to explain, still covering his nose. Hiding from Tim’s scent.

His heartbeat stutters.

He has a task now, though. Direction.

Sugar - Alfred keeps sweet treats on the second shelf in the cupboard over the left counter. They're usually forbidden from touching that shelf, and nobody would cross Alfred, but Tim thinks the man would make an exception right now.

Step by step, Jason's eyes track him, and Tim moves. He focuses on each step he puts in front of another, focuses on lifting his hand, on reaching for the chocolates, and not on his heart bearing out of his chest.

Jason is important, and Bruce is important, and Dick is important; to each other, and to Gotham, and to Tim. So if Tim can keep them from falling apart, he has to try.

He hopes it doesn't kill him.

Jason still looks ready to jump out of his own skin, breath held, tense.

Tim puts the chocolate down on the table between them, then backs up a step, two, but the tension doesn't bleed out of Jason's frame.

“Sugar won’t cut it,” his voice intones again, once more without his consent.

Jason’s eyes narrow.

“You need more blood.”

Tim is aware, distantly, that he’s shaking.

“Kid, you don’t - I’ll handle it, please, go away. Go now before I do-” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

He collapses, when he tries to take a step, sprawled on the kitchen floor. Tim’s blood is rushing through his ears. If he lets things go, it’s gonna be his fault when everything falls apart.

He has to -

He has to fix this.

A sob catches on the lump in his throat, but it doesn’t come free.

Jason is trying to get up, but his arms are shaking, like… like he’s been starving himself for a long time. Tim’s eyes are burning. He doesn’t want to do this, but that’s his _hero_ and Tim can _help him_. Jason almost killed him, and Tim is terrified.

He doesn’t want to be food for a vampire again.

He lifts his sleeve anyway. Jason snarls from the ground, vicious, making Tim’s heart skip a beat, but Tim has - he has to help.

The tears he’s blinking back blur Jason’s face, but they don’t shield Tim from his voice. “Fuck no, get - get away kid I don’t - I don’t want to hurt you, please -”

“You’re starving,” Tim croaks, getting on his knees next to Jason. “Please, you… you need blood.”

Jason shakes his head, but there’s only so much self-control he can have. Tim chokes on a sob as he lifts his wrist further - Jason wouldn’t kill him, he wouldn’t, Tim has to hold onto that, and this is the best thing for everyone, so he keeps going. Pushes his wrist right in Jason’s face and braces himself for the blinding pain.

But - but it doesn’t come. Jason doesn’t bite down viciously, like he did in the heat of frenzy, he licks Tim’s wrist gently, and looks at Tim with sharp, assessing eyes while his wrist goes numb and his heart stops beating.

_Oh_.

“Kid, are you sure-”

“Do it,” he cuts off, because that terrible uncertainty shining in Jason’s eyes cuts right through Tim to the scared kid underneath, and if he lets his fear out, he won’t be able to do this. He has to do this. Jason must feel the way his hand is shaking, but he mercifully says nothing.

He gives another lick, careful and slow, holding Tim’s arm with one hand and himself up with the other. When he opens his mouth to bite down, sharp teeth hover over his skin, ready to break - Tim can’t look - he can’t cry, the fangs close around his wrist and _bite_ \- Tim has to look away - but it doesn’t hurt, when teeth break skin.

_It hurts so bad, Tim can’t breathe._

The grip tightens around his arm and Tim wants to push, but he has to take it-

It takes no time at all to feel the drain on his blood. His mind goes hazy, just like back then. His thoughts seize and Tim waits for the bruising pain and claws digging in his skin, loses the battle against the tears he’s been holding back. He couldn’t struggle, anymore, with arms made of tissue and fingers losing feeling.

And Jason’s still going.

Tim sobs.

He has to - he needs to stop, but if he tries to pull it’s gonna _hurt_ and he’s gonna - that grip’ll squeeze, bruise his arm where it’s still holding firmly - “Jason-” he tries, but his voice won’t come.

Jason is big, a heavy weight holding him up when Tim slumps down, too weak to hold himself up. _Oh,_ he thinks weakly, _He’s gonna drain me_. There’s probably tears still running down his face, Tim can’t quite find the strength to hold them back. At least he’s doing something good. Bruce wouldn’t survive losing Jason, but he can probably find someone to take Tim’s place. This way, at least he’ll have his son.

His limbs feel cold, but Jason is a pillar of warmth against him. That’s nice.

The arm around his shoulders feels even nicer, when did that get there?

“Tim?”

Hmm. Someone’s calling. But Tim is busy, they should wait until he’s done, Jason needs him right now.

“Baby bird? Tim?”

Oh. They sound worried. Maybe he should answer. The arms around him are really warm though, and his head is heavy - maybe he can just lean his head against that chest and rest for a second. He’ll answer them…

***

“... sleep depri - how long - any idea… ”

The world comes back to Tim in bits and pieces. Conversation filters slowly through the haze blanketing his mind, voices just familiar enough to pull at his awareness. He follows that string of thought, up, up, to the impression of light, and soft blankets, and fingers carding gently through his hair.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jaybird. You couldn’t have known.”

“I knew better!” Jason, that’s Jason’s voice, harsh and sudden, but surprisingly mild, too. And close.

“No, you did your best. He was already halfway there. You need to stop blaming everything on yourself, little wing. Besides, you stopped in time.”

The grip tightens in his hair, and Tim lets out a surprised whine, cutting off whatever Jason was going to say in response.

The fingers leave his hair altogether, then, and Tim wants to follow the movement - that felt nice, don’t stop - but Dick must have come closer, because he says “Tim? Little red, are you awake?” and Tim can’t lie, so he has to force his eyes to open.

It takes a moment.

“There you are,” Dick says, leaning over Tim in what seems to be the living room, by the patterns on the wall. “How are you feeling? You crashed pretty badly, there.”

Tim’s coherent and comprehensive response is a heartfelt groan, which he feels is fair, given that his entire body feels heavy and he wants to sleep for another ten years.

“Oh, would you - stop crowding him, Dickface,” says Jason. He’s closer than Tim would have expected - much closer, actually, because next thing he knows, Jason’s hand pushes Dick out of the way, and Tim realizes that Jason is right there, with Tim’s head in his lap and - oh.

“Hey, baby bird,” he says. His voice is softer than Tim had ever heard it before, hesitant in a way he never associated with the man who used to be Robin, brash and confident and cheerful.

“Ugh,” Tim manages to articulate this time around. “M’head ‘urts.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize.... I didn’t mean to take that much. Alfred is making some cookies right now, get your blood sugar up.”

“Hmm. Tha’s good,” he mumbles. Alfred’s cookies are good. Almost as good as Jason’s fingers carding through his hair again, stopping to scratch at his scalp for a second, and oh, he can almost forget the pounding headache.

“But next time, maybe don’t feed the vampire when you’re already running low on blood sugar, Timmy. Why haven’t you eaten?”

Oh. That’s… that makes sense, probably. Tim thinks. He doesn’t wanna think right now - Jason needs to keep doing whatever magic he’s doing, and Tim can just nestle closer to the man’s warm everything. “Mm, case,” he intones at least, so Dick leaves him alone.

A snort, much closer to him, so that must be Jason. “I think someone needs to teach you about healthy work ethic, kid.”

Tim thinks that Jason is spending too much time talking and too little petting Tim. “Less talk,” he manages to mumble. “Pet.”

There’s a muffled snort, somewhere above him, and a startled laugh close by, he thinks. He isn’t sure. “Yeah, yeah. Go back to sleep, kid. We’ll wake you up when the cookies are done.”

He tries to say “Good”, but maybe he only thinks the word. His head feels fuzzy, still, but it’s a good fuzzy, now, with Jason’s hand leaving warm trails along his scalp. He smells like Alfred’s favourite detergent, too.

Either way, he’s asleep before long.

**Author's Note:**

> Jason: I'm dangerous and I need to be locked up!  
> Also Jason: Please don't send me away!
> 
> Chat with me on my [personal Tumblr](https://i-preen-for-oikawa.tumblr.com/). I also have a [writing one](https://i-write-midnight-snacks.tumblr.com/) where I sometimes post short previews or other writing stuff, so check that out!


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